


That's Money

by IShipIt32



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 23:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13258944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShipIt32/pseuds/IShipIt32
Summary: "It's just another black tie event; I don't even think I own a black tie".Stuck in some stupid function, Sandor tries to make sense of how he ended up stuck in a room full of snobby idiots.





	That's Money

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there,  
> This really is just a quick piece that I wrote after listening to some music, it is also my first time writing an Alternate Universe/Modern fic for this fandom. This was mostly done so that I could get the idea out of my mind and written as pure fun, no deep meaning, no fancy writing or thoughtfull plot... So if you're in the mood for some light reading, I hope you enjoy it.

He had been beating down guys that thought they were better than him for a long time, guys that seemed to think that money made them better, that good looks made them better, that a powerful last name and daddy's company made them better than the rest. Yes, he had been blooding his knuckles and the faces of so many guys like those who were currently surrounding him for longer than he would admit to her and yet there he was, completely unable to beat a single one of them to the ground, having to bite his tongue and take in their despise.

Sandor looked around; he felt that tie on his neck was choking him, all he saw was pretty boys with pretty trust funds, pretty air head girls on their arms and valet tickets for cars worth probably more than his apartment on their pockets. He felt like he stood out even more than he usually did, his suit wasn't cheap, at least not by his standards, but it had been off the rack and not designer made, even if Sansa had personally worked on it to make it fit nicer. He had shined his shoes but the shiny floor and bright lights made them look used and old. He had even combed his hair, gathering it up in one of those stupid 'man buns' that every fucking male had in magazines lately. It was funny though, how everybody seemed to look at his clothes but paid no attention to his face. Fashion people were all the same and different at the same time; they'd judge you promptly based on what they saw: Old shoes? A store-bought suit? You must have been in the wrong place; security had almost not let him in but that they had been afraid of him and his name was clear in the invitation, forcing them to let him in. He wondered if things would be different if the had been wearing something fancier, though that outfit was the nicest thing he owned. He wondered if the stupid socialites, bloggers, and designers would think him a tortured artist, a dark soul that fed off his misery to create... there was no point in asking what ifs, he was wearing what he was wearing, and the judging glances and distasteful stares were coming his way and would continue to do to so all night.

He had almost not shown up that night; he had stared at his reflexion just before leaving the house, a stupid man had stared back at him. He had studied that man head to toe, in the shit lightning of his apartment his suit seemed alright, his shoes looked nice, and although he knew his tie wasn't tied correctly, he thought no one would notice. His reflexion showed a man with a burnt face, a full beard that had been trimmed, an old man with crowfeet around his eyes and teeth that were not pearly white. He saw two calloused hands, he saw dry skin and once more he saw the scars, dents on his skin, a leather-like look on the rough edge of his temple and cheek. He cursed under his breath before exiting the room, Sansa's words still echoing in his mind. He had been so opposed to going to the stupid event, even more so, when she told him that she'd be running late and wanted just to meet him at the venue.

"It's just another fucking black tie event; I don't even think I own a black tie. Forget it, you go and have fun with your pretty friends and their pretty faces" - he had spoken roughly after dinner a few weeks ago when she showed him the invitations.

"I'm nominated for an award, Sandor, it's not _just_ _another fucking black tie event_ " – she had said, hurt and anger mixed in her voice – "I want you there, please."

"Have one of your pretty brothers escort you; they'll fit right in." – he had spit and taken his empty plate to the kitchen, unceremoniously throwing it into the sink.

She hadn't followed him after that, she had remained in the living room and finished her dinner. They hadn't spoken as they did the dishes, hadn't shared a single word as Sandor watched TV and Sansa worked on her computer, she completely ignored him when Arya caller her phone and the sisters talked for over an hour. He thought that she would go home after that but her car was in the shop and he had offered to drive her to work before picking it up for her. She had changed into her pajamas in the bathroom, brushed her teeth and gotten into bed a good hour before he finally broke down and joined her in bed.

"I wouldn't have asked you if it wasn't important for me" – her voice broke the silence after a few minutes of lying in the dark, she was on her side, her back to him, and her voice felt so cold it made him shiver – "I was hoping you'd chose me over your pride."

"I'll go" – he had replied as soon as the air returned to his lungs, her words hitting him like a bag of bricks – "I choose you, Little Bird, I'll always choose you" – he had said because it was true, because he would choose her over anything and everything. Because there was nothing he could deny her and because he'd do anything just to make her happy. After a moment of silence, his heart started beating again as he felt her hand brushing against his.

And so there he was, drinking a beer at the most important gala in the fashion world, in his cheap suit and old shoes, on the receiving end of so many stares and being the punch line of so many jokes. It took him two swings to finish the beer he had just ordered and deciding to make the most out of the open bar, he immediately asked for another drink.

"Sandor Clegane?"

A tall blond woman approached him, tall by his standards which was saying a lot. She had pale skin and yellow hair; freckles covered her face, a crooked nose that must have been broken more than once and a pair of blue eyes.

"Who's asking" – he said standing tall.

"No need to get all defensive" – the woman replied not at all intimidated by him, his scars or his attire – "I'm Brienne, I usually shoot Sansa's collections. She asked me to keep an eye on you in case she ran later than expected."

The woman asked the bartender for a scotch and then eyed him head to toe. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he was the subject of inspection for what feelt like the thousandth time of the evening. He stood tall, his shoulders thrown back and his chin up, he was used to people staring and being scared by his face, having people judging him by his clothes isn't something he can't endure, or at least that's what he kept telling himself.

"Lose the jacket, roll your sleeves a little" – she pretty much commanded him as they leaned against the bar. He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at her, asking who the hell she thought she was to tell him what to do – "People are going to stare either way, work with what you have, which in your case is your built and height, definitely not your charming personality."

The woman held his eyes for the entirety of their exchange, she didn’t flinch away or tried to disguise terror or dislike, and she did say that Sansa sent her… Reluctantly, Sandor shrugged off his jacket and immediately felt better; his shoulders free from the constraining jacket that in his opinion was a little tight but Sansa said was just a slim fit even there was nothing slim about him. After rolling his shoulders to ease the tension in his muscles, he perched the jacket on one arm and rolled up his sleeve, then doing the same for the other one.

"Much better, if you ask me" – Brienne said and ordered a second drink after staring at the flow of people who had just entered the room.

"No one asked you" – he retorted. 

He scanned the room, caught a few people staring at him, but they turned away the second their eyes meet. The master of ceremonies called everyone to please head to their tables and Sandor cursed, their table was somewhere in the middle of the room, where everyone would stare and gape at him, let them stare, he thought as he trailed behind Brienne. He had made it halfway to the table when the ballroom doors opened and there was an audible gasp, he turned to see what had happened and then he saw her. Her mane of red hair caught his eye, silky waves that went below her shoulders and clashed against her pale skin, an elegant black dress that hugs her curves perfectly. Her shoulders are exposed, and just above the cleavage of her dress, he can see the little bird golden pendant that he had gotten for her just because. She had makeup on, and her blue eyes shone brighter when she caught his eye, he'd never get over how beautiful she was, never get used to it. 

Sansa made a beeline towards him, smiling and nodding in the direction of whoever talked to her. She extended her hand when she got close enough, and he started moving again, not realizing that he had frozen in his spot like a real idiot. The second that she intertwined her fingers with his, he forgot about his cheap suit and old shoes. He couldn't care less if his tie was crooked or done incorrectly, if his beard wasn't trimmed by a barber and looked a little uneven. No, the moment she proudly took him by the hand and led him to their table he felt like the most important fucker in that fucking room. He felt every eye on him, judging, insulting, probably thinking that a girl like her had no business with a guy like him, and they were right, but she had made up her mind even when he had tried to discourage.

"I'm so sorry I'm late" – she whispered as she placed her dainty hand on his broad chest – "I love the look, by the way, good idea to ditch the jacket." – She smiled at him so bright that he thought the stars would be jealous, her fingers went to his tie, loosened the knot and did it again expertly in seconds – "What are you smiling so wickedly at?" 

"For the past forty minutes, I have been stared down by these snotty little men in their fancy suits with their high-end escorts. And then you come in looking like that and take my hand, and I just feel like I hit the lights out of every single one of them without even moving a finger." – Sandor confessed, a smile forming on his face and tugging his scars in a way he hates but she apparently likes - "You look amazing, by the way."

"Thanks"

The master of ceremonies called for everyone's attention, the lights dimmed and she smiled shyly at him before planting a soft kiss on his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see some mouths hanging open; so they wanted to stare? Let them stare, with her hand on his knee, and his arm on the back of her chair he felt wealthier than any of those sorry bastards would ever be.

**Author's Note:**

> And that was that!  
> In the past, I wouldn't have posted this out of fear of it not being a "quality" story, but I'm trying to let go of those self imposed restrictions. Thank you for reading.


End file.
